


I know I'll go (blame it on me)

by Peasantaries



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Crack, M/M, Meet-Cute, Multi, Snark, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-09-27 07:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9983282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantaries/pseuds/Peasantaries
Summary: Stiles and Derek both have their reasons, and they'll both fight tooth and nail to avoid one another, but it turns out to be a lot harder to fight the force of gravity.[WILL BE COMPLETED]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even remember how long ago I started writing this little plot bunny, but it keeps jumping in and out of my mind, so I'm posting it now to try and force myself to actually finish!
> 
> Can I also just say that I have way too many teen wolf fics? What is my life?

It's raining. It has been raining for. _Four._ Hours.

You know that cosy-snuggly, safe and peaceful feeling people proclaim to have when listening to the rain - well, rain?

Yeah, turns out that's not so applicable to raging storms at three in the morning, and the pipe being burst right outside your window.

It's honestly not the fact that Stiles would _die_ right now if he went out to fix it, that he would pretty much be electrocuted or fall to his untimely death, it's the fact he _literally does not have the mechanics._

They've been known to have bad weather in Beacon Hills, but Jesus, this really takes the pickle.

Stiles sighs aggressively, whistling his breaths, although it’s hardly as if the wind could take offence at his annoyance and stop.

He feels that same tug in his lower abdomen again, and rolls over violently, this time for a different reason, his heart beating itself to a pulp inside his chest.

He doesn't sleep.

 

*

There is a magical phenomenon in today's world called a soulmate.

A mate. A pal, a buddy. Perfect chums.

There are no age limits. There are no gender restrictions, race inequality, debacle or debate when it comes to mating. Mates are an accepted biology. People began to feel themselves pulled towards others since the dawn of time.

The pull, the tug, is another unexplained evolutionary trait that is experienced when one is near finding their mate, or ready to find them, or just in their proximity. A soft snag in your stomach, like a fish hook being reeled in. Caught. Mated.

No one has ever resisted the pull. No one knows anyone who’s ever rejected a bond, there are no documented effects of ignoring your tug in history. There has been nobody ever stupid enough to walk in the opposite direction they’re being pulled in.

Until now.

 

*

"What do you mean, you can't do this anymore?!"

"I can't keep pretending everything is alright when we both know, this thing is eating at us, it's tearing us apart, I didn't want to find them, I never planned this, but I can't go along with this anymore, being in this house as if she doesn't exist, she _exists_ \- "

"Oh, I know she exists! I know! I'm trying to save our _marriage!_ A marriage that's worked even though we knew we would never be perfect for each other, why couldn't you accept that like I have?"

*walks across set* "Because when you find them, you'll know." *reaches for jacket, goes to exit, slam door - *

"Okay, cut! Cut!" Stiles waves frantically. "That was a good take!" He shouts to the pair currently having lunch. On each other. Really.

He throws his hands in the air. "I give up."

His co-producer ambles over. "I know I've already suggested this, but why don't we make it the two people who _aren't_ already mated … break up?" He says significantly.

Stiles strides over to the water cooler, pouring himself a drink in the plastic cups on set. "No. There needs to be something driving this scene. Otherwise it’ll fall flat, and the whole story won’t work. Every scene has to count, that's what makes a great movie. If you were watching this in the cinema, would you feel more impact watching actors who had genuine chemistry go through this emotional scene, or watching actors just saying lines?"

Danny sighs. "Look, Stiles. I see your point, I do. And it would be exciting to see a renowned mated pair play a typical non-mated couple - but, I just. Have a feeling this might not work." He glances dubiously to the couple still. Uh.

“I’m sorry baby you know I didn’t mean it –” Jackson is saying, and Lydia wraps arms around his shoulders.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You talk to them. I'm taking a break."

He's washing up in the bathroom when he feels it again, that pained not painful jerk in his stomach. Stiles grits his teeth.

It's only as he's drying his hands he feels it tenfold, pulling him in the direction of outside. Stiles gasps, crouches slightly, and rushes into the nearest stall.

Someone enters.

They whistle softly, and then Stiles hears the sound of peeing. He balks, his stomach twisting, not exactly helped by the insistent throb of being pushed forward by gravity. His breathing begin to speed, chest hitching tight.

They're here, they're in the building they're going to come, they’re going to strip him of everything he’s worked for -

"Uh? Is somebody in here?"

Stiles presses his palms to the stall sides, backing away.

"Is everything alright?"

"I." Stiles gasps, and then hyperventilates.

"Where are you?" The person is calling.

"Over here." He calls weakly, his legs ready to give out.

The stall door is pressed open gently.

Stiles is plastered to the far end of the wall, sweating and flushed and unable to breathe.

"I think it’s – I think I'm – " Stiles gasps.

"It's alright, you're going to be fine, look, why don't you step out – "

"No!" He shouts, and stupidly, his eyes are burning, his heart is hammering. "No please don't make me go out, I can't – "

The stranger hushes him comfortingly, and steps closer. "Look." He holds his hands out. "Not touching. Not making you do anything."

He's breathing fast, hyperventilating. "I must look – I'm being – but they're here I don't want to go I don't want one I don't want it –" Stiles sobs, cutting himself off.

"Listen to me, listen to my voice. You don’t have to do anything you don't want to. We can stay here all night if that's what it takes. Just breathe, nice and slow." He grins when Stiles complies. "There you go! Almost as if you've known since birth!"

Stiles laughs shakily, his breaths calming down. He blinks away tears and glances to the person.

They look slightly younger than Stiles, with bright eyes and a fresh face: boyishly handsome. They smile when Stiles looks at them, and one cheek dimples. "That's it."

Stiles whooshes out a breath, feeling jittery and shaky. "Sorry." He croaks.

"Hey, we all have bad days." He grins, and Stiles tentatively returns one. "Isaac." He thrusts out an open palm.

"Stiles." He shakes his hand.

He feels Isaac's grip go loose. "Stiles? Stiles Stilinski?" He cheers. "I love your movies!"

"Thanks. I'm not in any." He laughs.

"No, but your directing is a work of art."

Stiles smiles. "Some beg to differ."

Isaac seems to sober. "I think you have a talent." He says resolutely, and then falls quiet. "You wanna talk about it?" He asks, a kind offering.

Stiles shrugs, almost wants to shake his head. He's silent, and Isaac goes to leave, but he feels the need to explain himself.

"My – I'm feeling my tug." He says. Isaac stops. "I. I'm just not ready. I don't want one."

Isaac freezes, and Stiles hastens to justify himself.

"I'm not being selfish! I just don't want a soulmate.” He starts, and the words are tumbling out. “Plenty of people don't want a soulmate. I don't want a relationship, I want a choice. I want to be able to live without this expectation that life only begins when I meet someone else, as if I need somebody else to be able to exist myself and I’m like – we all live with this crippling fear we'll never meet them and I'm so happy and successful and people think - 'why?' Why are you so happy alone? And I just think why are _you_ the one asking, maybe they're crazy." He finishes in a rush.

Isaac is still for a moment before brightening. "I get it." He says oddly, and then makes Stiles splash his face with cool water and tells him lame jokes until he feels alright to go back outside.

*

Afterwards, though, Isaac turns to him as they’re walking back to set. “You know, I’ve never thought about it like that.”

Stiles blinks. “Like what?”

“Like – people should be able to be happy alone.” Isaac starts. “But people can also be happy together. I think you should give your soulmate a chance.”

“Hey, it’s my choice –” Stiles is instantly defensive, but Isaac holds up his hands.

“I’m just saying, you can never know unless you try.” He says, shrugging. "They're out there, looking for you."

Stiles is quiet.

"Alright, just. Take this." Stiles begins, and Isaac glances over quickly. He falters, but wants to continue.

"Think about this, okay. Say you meet someone, who – you don't know them, never met, you're nothing to them. And they're nothing to you. So, say – and you don't even have to like them! You can dislike them, you can be aloof towards them, you could bump into each other on the street!” Stiles knows he's going incoherent, and clears his throat before continuing.

“So, say you see them again.” He starts once more. “They're funny, you'd like to get to know them. And so you do, you learn everything about them. You start dating, and its new, it’s exhilarating, they're wonderful, they make you feel alive. And you’re better because of them.” He looks at Isaac.

“Now what's that – is that not the same?” He frowns. “Is that not as strong as a soulmate love? Is a soulmate love not being forced to meet someone, having your choice ripped away as soon as you meet them, knowing you will spend the rest of your life with them, but all the while in this endorphin-induced biological state, so mind numbingly happy you never have to get to know them, their likes and dislikes, their passions - all of that doesn't matter, you completely bypassed the first few exciting months of a relationship because when you're together you don't even have to talk. You can simply sit with them and pretend that this is what love is, when you're not even really feeling anything at all. That's nothing.”

Isaac is quiet.

“So, what's to say which is the truest?” Stiles asks. “The perfect person who compliments you in every way imaginable, or someone you met, who you got to know, who you developed feelings for. Someone who drives you crazy, who you can laugh with, who you're insanely attracted to, who you have fights with and throw things at and cry to, but who gave you a choice, and who you chose with something bigger than your body, bigger than your heart: who you chose with your _mind_."

Isaac looks at him for a moment. "You really don't know what it means to have a soulmate, do you?"

Stiles opens his mouth, only it hits him from nowhere.

He’s crippled with the sensation, not a pain, not even a feeling, something inexplicable.

As if gravity is forcing him to move, pushing him forward, like the air has suddenly become a river that Stiles is standing in the middle of, and he’s pushing against the unforgiving current, dragging him out to sea.

“Isaac!” Stiles cries in terror, and then grips the nearest thing to him, which happens to be a streetlight.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Stiles hears from across set, and glances over to see somebody gripping the door of the loading truck that brings in equipment, feet scrambling for purchase before they drop the box of props they were carrying.

Stiles whips back around, squeezing his eyes shut in case he just so happens to have a _really_ hot soulmate that melts his brain and all rational thought, or in case there's some undiscovered affect that actually _seeing your soulmate_  has on the mental state of a person. Stiles wraps his arms around the lamp, clinging on for dear life.

“ISAAC!” The person, the stranger – _his soulmate_ – booms. “What did I tell you about finding my soulmate!”

“I – I didn’t – I –” Isaac babbles, face ashen white.

“Hey asshole!” Stiles cries, heart hammering with the fact he’s actually _talking_ to his soulmate. “Isaac didn’t come find me for you!”

“Who the fuck are you, and how the fuck do you know Isaac?” The man shouts over.

“I’m the director of this fucking movie, _shithead!”_ Stiles cries.

“Fuck!” The man curses, eloquent.

“With a considerable amount of wealth for my age, so I don’t know why you’re clinging to a door!” Stiles shouts, foolishly indignant that his soulmate feels the same as him. He thought they would be worried, pleading, not - _this._

“ _Excuse me?_ ” The man cries. “Can I remind you that you’re literally attached to a lamppost?”

“Because I - reasons!” Stiles shouts. “If you had come to talk to me, I would have explained!”

“Oh, because I’m doing this for the thrills?” The man’s voice grows gradually higher. “I love hanging off doors like an idiot! You have _no right_ to be offended, when you’re doing the exact same thing as me!”

Stiles realises they’re growing quite the audience, but he doesn’t care, he’ll stay here forever if it means he keeps his freedom.

“You’re both being stupid –” Isaac starts.

“SHUT UP!” They shout at the same time.

“Isaac, I need you to –” Stiles starts.

“ISAAC!” The man roars, a deafening sound. “Don’t you _dare_ do anything and get over here!”

“Hey!” Stiles shouts. “He’s not some dog! Isaac, please help –”

“Isaac, I would greatly appreciate it –”

“Oh, so now you’re using cheap talk?”

“You’ve known him how long?”

“I could _literally_ –” Stiles makes the mistake of letting go.

He doesn’t know how it happens, but it’s as if his anger he forgot the whole point of holding onto the streetlight in the first place, and his grip slips away as fury clouds his mind –

and then he turns and his feet scramble on the ground before he’s flowing forwards; no matter how hard he digs his heels in, how much he strains, he’s in a tsunami being washed up to shore.

Stiles is yanked by the universe toward his other half, and he claws and fights all the way there.

Just as Stiles is scared he’s going to crash into the person’s back like a comet, tumbling and awkward, their grip loosens too. They're yanked around, as if by invisible hands, and shoved forward.

Stiles registers things in a flash; a shock of black hair, surreally blue-green eyes wide with terror, arms wind-milling comically, a leather jacket and a sharp jaw, and then Stiles is in his soulmate’s arms.

He crashes into his chest but the collision doesn’t hurt. Suddenly, the incessant tug evaporates, the force of gravity dissipates, and Stiles is left staring at himself.

The naked, stark fear in the man’s eyes, reflected in Stiles, the loss and terror and pain and everything in-between that Stiles so intimately knows.

Stiles suddenly sees himself, sees all his own reasons mirrored in his soulmate. It’s as if he’s _looking_ at himself, and yet in so many ways, he is.

Stiles, inexplicably, softens. “It’s okay.” He murmurs, his voice going almost unrecognisable, soft and low, and he reaches up to touch his soulmate cheek with trembling fingers.

The man abruptly softens too, expression going slack, and in the space of a blink, the fear is replaced with muted joy, tentative and true.

Stiles huffs a laugh, flushing at the fact it’s directed at him. He glances down, but then he feels something tip his jaw upwards, before a mouth is on his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shortest of short updates, but it's something, and I tried. 
> 
> Also last chapter I literally wrote, 'it's not a feeling, it's something else, a feeling' and had to laugh for approx. a year because if I didn't I would cry
> 
> why do I keep adding to the chapters? To drag out the torture for as long as possible, and also to be able to update more frequently, instead of leaving and disappearing into the darkness every once and a while

As soon as lips touch his, as soon as warm, soft skin connects with his own, Stiles jerks back, startled.

The same shock and confusion is written large across his soulmates face, a perfect mirror.

But the fist comes out of nowhere. Quite literally.

 

*

Stiles sits, legs crossed, elbow propped on one knee as he holds an ice-pack to his cheek, pointedly facing away from the person sitting beside him.

Said person happens to be his soulmate, arms crossed and legs spread, head tipped in the opposite direction of Stiles.

"This is ridiculous." Danny states.

"Agreed." Isaac adds.

"We can't move." Derek explains.

"If you actually tried -"

"Clearly I want to spend all my time attached to someone who despises me -"

" _You_ punched _me!"_ Stiles cries, turning around and letting the ice-pack drop, revealing a bright, blossoming bruise across his cheekbone.

The man winces audibly, his arms tensing where they're crossed over his chest. "I - it was a reflex - "

"To punch someone?" Stiles shrieks, his voice climbing higher. "Some violent reflexes you got there, buddy."

"I'm out." Danny says. "We're done filming, I need a break."

Stiles pays him no mind, as does his soulmate.

The stranger bristles. "I said it was an _accident_ \- "

"I don't think you did." Stiles states, and turns his mouth down. "I really, _actually_ don't think you did."

"I -"

"Derek." Isaac cuts him off, one eyebrow raised.

Derek. _Derek_.

Hearing the name of his soulmate for the first time is a slightly surreal experience.

Whenever the thought of his soulmate arises, it's squashed down and swallowed as quickly as a bad taste in his mouth. But privately, Stiles can admit at least to himself that it's impossible not to imagine it. Even his subconscious plays tricks on him, giving him nightmares that it's really been his chemistry teacher all along, or that old lady down the street he helped with bags one time and has never stopped being lured into her house. 

But the name was always something Stiles could never even fathom.

It's impossible to place a name on a faceless, unknown and unknowable figure. For all the research he's done on preventing and ultimately stopping it, he's never tried any of those sites that claim to find your soulmate in twenty-four hours, that claim to give you the first letter of their name just from all the information you offer.

From all the dreams of perfect jawlines and soft hair, of humorous personalities and wide smiles, all his nightmares of domineering arrogance or worse, hurt faces at his feelings, Stiles could never picture a full, solid person, with a name and a life and _their own reasons_.

Derek, sitting beside him, is a steady, solid presence, a real person who has a past and has flaws - _clearly more than most people_  - but also, someone who has doubts and thoughts and fears, aspirations and _feelings_. Who has _reasons._

Suddenly, with that name, Stiles finds himself changed. His soulmate is called Derek, and they're abrasive as all hell, but they're here and they're _real_. 

His eyes want to move, take in Derek's features and memorise them, map out every freckle and mole, to absorb the slope of his nose and the wisp of his hair. He wants to turn, to face Derek and hear his voice, to pry open his mind and find things undiscovered, to extract unwilling laughter and earn surly smiles.

Stiles is quiet. Everything he's ever known is crumbling before him, and he's powerless to stop it.

But that's not the only thing; _he doesn't want to_. He can barely dredge up the energy to lift a finger against this man, never mind stand up and actively walk away. The embarrassing thing is that Stiles can't move because he has absolutely _no desire_ to.

The one, single gratifying thing is that Derek himself seems to be in the same predicament.

So they sit, unwilling to move but unwilling to do anything else.

"You both just gonna sit in silence?" Isaac asks.

Neither of them reply.

"Suit yourself." He throws his hands up, turning around.

"I - wait!" Derek calls, and Isaac pauses.

"Can you." He coughs. "Can you bring food?"

Isaac blinks.

"I'll give you reimbursement." Derek states darkly, but his eyes are saying that reimbursement will come in the form of physical pain. "It's a sandwich, Isaac."

Isaac nods, going to scurry off, but Derek makes a wordless noise. Isaac pauses.

"Get two." He's not looking at Stiles, but he must feel Stiles' eyes, because red is slowly crawling it's way up his neck.

Stiles is doomed.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't acknowledge anything, but the longer they both sit, tense and expectant, the more unbearable it becomes.

Stiles stands, abrupt, and Derek must not have be predicting this because he starts, eyes wide and - _frightened_?

Stiles simply tips his head forward. "C'mon." He states.

Derek blinks.

"I'm the director." He explains. "It comes with some perks, including a trailer. I have food." He scratches the back of his neck. "It's no fine dining, but hey, it's free."

Derek continues to stare, and Stiles balances his weight on each foot awkwardly, waiting.

Derek stands, silent, and in that fashion, they make their way across set.

Neither of them acknowledge why they're not separating.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments always welcome!
> 
> I'm also Peasantaries on [Tumblr](https://peasantaries.tumblr.com/), [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/peasantaries), and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peasantaries/)! Come over and talk to me! I'll never bite <33


End file.
